Starrett was a coward--he would not come again.
Carl glanced again at Wherry.

It was a man who walked beside him to-night.

The battle was over.

Chin up, shoulders squared against the bitter wind, he walked with the free, full stride of health and new endurance, tossing the snow from his dark, heavy hair with a laugh.
There was clear red in his face and his eyes were shining.
Five miles in the teeth of a sleety blizzard and every muscle ached with the fight.
"Dick," said Carl suddenly, "I'm proud of you." Wherry swung sturdily on his heel.
"But you won for me, Carl," he said quietly.

"I'll not forget that." In silence they tramped back through the heavy drifts to the farmhouse and left their snowy coats in the great warm kitchen where the Carmodys--old Allan and young Allan, young, shy, pretty Mary and old Mary, the sole winter servants of the Glade--were mulling cider over a red-hot stove.
By the fire in the sitting room Dick faced his host with hot color in his face.
"Carl," he said with an effort, "my letter to-night--it's from a girl up home in Vermont.